


Of Faith and Latin Grammar

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Beauxbatons, DADA practice, Enjolras' Army, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire can't produce a Patronus. Everybody knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Faith and Latin Grammar

Grantaire can't produce a Patronus. Everybody knows it; even Professor Gros has stopped trying. He's taken to teaching Grantaire other spells, ones he has a chance of actually using in the face of danger.

It's not that he has no happy memories--he's certain he does. But they don't have the force, the power, that other people's memories seem to have. He cannot isolate them. To remember his first flight on a broom is to remember his first fall as well, the sickening crack and the bright bloom of pain in his arm.

And to think of his family--

No. Best not to think of them at all.

Moreover, he doesn't believe that this student group can do anything to halt the rising tide of darkness. The world will not be saved by a gang of overconfident teenagers. Truth be told, he doubts the world will be saved at all.

But Enjolras is its leader, and so he goes, week after week after week. Sneaking through the halls of Beauxbatons after curfew, whispering countercharms against all the spells that would alert staff to students out of bed, until he comes to the hidden chamber they've taken as their practice room.

He wonders sometimes how they all came to be here, wide-eyed second-years to jaded seventh-years about to leave school for the frightful uncertainty of the wizarding world. How they all came to be in thrall to this mad, brave sixth-year who, it's said, comes from a long line of pureblood witches and wizards who dabbled in the Dark Arts. But there is nothing dark in _him_. No, he is all harsh light, the kind that burns and cleanses more than it illuminates. Grantaire has smeared a hundred canvases, trying to capture that light.

And now he's here, and he wishes he wasn't.

If he had known that the Patronus charm was the subject of this week's lesson, he would have skipped the meeting entirely. But he can't slip out now without someone noticing. Bahorel or Jehan might be kind enough not to say anything; they've shared his Defense classes, and they understand. But he can't count on Enjolras to ignore his departure. More likely he'd be called out, and faced with the sort of tongue-lashing that thrills him even as it breaks his heart.

So he'll have to soldier through it. Perhaps if he makes himself extra obnoxious, Enjolras will ask him to leave, and Grantaire will never have to reveal this particular failing.

He lets Enjolras get through a full sentence--just one.

"Shouldn't it be _Patroni_ , though?" he calls out. "It's a second-declension noun, so it _would_ be the proper plural."

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "We're talking about the defense of our world against the greatest evil--and you're going to quibble about Latin?"

"Yes," he says simply. "In this new, free world, after the Dark powers are vanquished, all people will be free to quibble over ancient languages without fear."

A scattering of giggles breaks out over the room.

"I don't care what word you use, so long as you're able to produce one," Enjolras says shortly.

Grantaire winces, but Enjolras has already turned away, talking about how to concentrate on the happy memory, how practice will make it easier to recall when one is in real danger. He moves on to the forms that a Patronus might take, and Grantaire seizes the opportunity.

"What if your Patronus takes on an... _inappropriate_ form? There are little ones here, you know," he adds, waving a hand towards Cosette and Marius.

"An inappropriate form? What kind of--" Enjolras cuts himself off. "I don't even want to know. Just practice with the other seventh-years, then." He turns away. "All right, get out your wands, everyone. Remember, the strength of the Patronus is determined by the strength of the memory it comes from. I'll come around and help you if you need it."

Grantaire tries. He really, genuinely _tries_ , because disappointing Enjolras is the last thing he wants to do. He waves his wand and says the words-- _Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum_ \--over and over again, achieving nothing more than a faint puff of light, a formless mist that dims and dies without ever taking shape.

Enjolras is circling the room, talking with the others, giving advice where it's needed and praise where it's earned. Now's the time to escape, while he's distracted.

Grantaire is three steps from the door when Enjolras materializes next to him, so suddenly that Grantaire would suspect Apparition if he didn't already know that it was impossible to Apparate anywhere within Beauxbatons' grounds.

"Grantaire? Where are you going?"

He fakes a smile and waves Enjolras away. "Don't worry about me, _ange_. The Dementors wouldn't want anything from me, anyway." They drain the happiness out of things, and Grantaire is already drained.

But it's the wrong thing to say. Enjolras' face does that _thing_ , gets that stubborn cast that means he's chosen this battle, that he's going to conquer this problem or die trying. If he were to face down the Enemy itself, he would be no different.

Enjolras will die with that look on his face. The thought sends a chill down Grantaire's spine, and he wishes he hadn't left the flask of firewhiskey in his room. He forces words out of a suddenly tight throat.

"I can't do it, Enjolras. Don't waste your time on me."

He shakes his head, and a few curls spring free from the tie that holds them at the nape of his neck. "No," he says. "I don't accept that."

"You want me to show you? Fine." He pulls out his wand. " _Expecto Patronum_." And there it is, the thin puff of mist, and nothing more.

"Oh."

Grantaire feels his mouth twist into a smirk. "Now's the part where you say that it happens to every guy, and it's nothing to be ashamed of," he says.

Enjolras doesn't comment on the off-color joke; he doesn't even seem to notice it. "Your stance is wrong."

"The stance isn't the problem," Grantaire retorts.

"Well, fixing it can't _hurt_. Come here." Enjolras reaches out and turns Grantaire away from him. One hand settles over his hip, and the other arm is outstretched, holding Grantaire's hand as he holds his wand.

Grantaire is sure that Enjolras can feel his heart pounding. The only reason his hand isn't shaking is because Enjolras is there to steady him, pale fingers curled over his brown ones.

"You can do this," he whispers, and his breath is warm on Grantaire's skin.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," Grantaire breathes. Light bursts from the tip of his wand, brighter than the sun itself, glowing a cold silver. Throughout the room, people swear and raise their arms to cover their eyes, to block out the burning brightness.

Grantaire alone sees his Patronus for what it is. A human form, wreathed in flames that do not burn it, crowned with a halo of very familiar curls. Grantaire waves his wand, and the Patronus dissipates, leaving the room dim and cold. He blinks away the after-image, shocked at what he's done.

"Told you so," someone murmurs behind him, and Grantaire turns to see Enjolras still standing close by.

Enjolras smiles at him, and Grantaire knows that whatever happens, however they come to an end, he will never forget this moment. He will die with a smile on his face, because this happened.

He will never fail to produce a Patronus again.

**Author's Note:**

> Grantaire's Patronus is an [ifrit](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ifrit). A Patronus can be a magical creature as well as a mundane one (see Dumbledore's phoenix Patronus), so it's not stretching canon _too_ much.
> 
> Also, this Grantaire turned out to be very much [Avan Jogia](https://www.google.com/search?q=avan+jogia&espv=210&es_sm=93&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=GDnsUsjJHIrXkQff4oHIDg&ved=0CAkQ_AUoAQ&biw=1366&bih=667) in my head. I feel like that ought to be said.


End file.
